


Only Human

by Energy_Purple



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Background Roman Reigns, Dean Needs A Hug, Fainting, Fluffy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Physical Exhaustion, Protective Seth Rollins, Seth needs a hug, Sick Dean, Sickfic, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7411123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Energy_Purple/pseuds/Energy_Purple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Ambrose, champion though he may be, is only human.</p><p>After a gruelling few days of tapings and travelling, Dean passes out backstage after a show.</p><p>With Roman suspended, Seth finds himself having to take care of Dean.</p><p>After all, everyone thinks that Seth and Dean are friends now, right?</p><p>They couldn't be further from the truth...</p><p>One-sided Dean Ambrose/Seth Rollins<br/>Hinted Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ilzehs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilzehs/gifts).



> Hello again everyone!
> 
> This is based off a prompt I received from the lovely Ilzehs, who wanted some hurt/comfort and unrequited Seth dealing with Dean's absolutely insane workload recently. 
> 
> After all, no one can deny that Dean is working his ass off as champion, and we were both worried about our poor baby!
> 
> This should hopefully only be a 2-3 parter at the very most. It'll mostly be dealing with Seth's unrequited love for Dean, but there'll also be hints of suggested Ambreigns and Ambrollins to come in later chapters.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy, and please remember to leave any reviews and comments!

The sweat was dripping off of Dean as he pushed his way through the curtains into the gorilla position, his championship belt heavy over his left shoulder. It hadn’t been a long match tonight, but that didn’t mean that it had been a walk in the park; Dean knew better than to underestimate anyone he faced, especially considering that the title in his possession made him the top target for anyone wanting to prove themselves.

Dean still found it odd. He’d spent so long climbing up the rungs of the various ladders put in front of him, fighting and clawing and scratching against all-comers to earn his opportunities that he’d almost forgotten that those same people he’d fought on the way would now be after him.

Not that Dean would have it any other way, of course.

After he’d gotten over the worst of his insecurities and paranoia surrounding the circumstances of his title win, he’d gradually begun to believe what those around him were saying.

He did deserve the belt. He had earned that belt. He was the rightful champion.

That didn’t mean that those voices and demons crawling under his skin had stopped tormenting him; they were still there - as they always would be – whispering in his ear when he laid in bed at night, twisting his gut into knots every time he made a mistake, trying to convince him that all it would take is one slip up for everyone to see him as a fraud.

Dean would have been lying if he said that, more often than not, he found himself staring into a mirror with the belt lazily gripped in his hand. Dean really was his own worst enemy, and it was still frighteningly easy for him to pick holes in what was reflected back at him.

Scruffy appearance. His too skinny waist and inability to actually get any muscle definition regardless of how long he spent in the gym. Pale skin and ugly scars.

Now though, just occasionally, he saw something staring back at him that made it a little bit easier to breathe. Something that brought a small and genuine smile to his lips.

He saw someone who had finally made it. Someone who was sitting on the top of a mountain previously believed to be insurmountable.

The conqueror.

An actual champion.

 _The_ champion.

Although right now, Dean conceded, the _exhausted_ champion was probably a much more accurate description.

Dean wasn’t naïve; he’d known that being champion meant that he’d suddenly find himself in high demand. Roman had given him a bit of a reality check of sorts before he’d gotten on the plane back to Pensacola, trying to prepare Dean as much as possible for the impending burst in activities.

They’d both been sat in their shared hotel room, a bottle of Jack Daniels between them as Roman had tried to impart his wisdom – although, to be honest, it had mainly descended into that friendly kind of chaos that summed up their relationship to a tee.

There’d been the few nuggets of gold, like how to deal with management, which person on creative was worth talking to for more freedom in promos, how to make sure he didn’t lose the goddamn belt in his travels (to be fair, both times, Dean might have been hungover and kind of forgotten that he needed to drag it around places) and how to deal with the locker room and the inevitable jealousy and backstabbing that goes on.

Dean had been half listening, more focussed on fiddling with the loose strands of Roman’s ridiculously majestic hair, when Roman had given up and decided that there were much more fun and important ways to spend their last night together for a while.

Dean had worn that hickey like a medal of honour for _days_.

Anyway, Roman had mentioned offhandedly that being the champion meant more travelling, more matches, more tours, more appearances, more having to be behaved with the fans and more self-control.

During their nightly Skype sessions, Roman had become more of a mother hen than usual; he’d insist on checking that Dean had eaten, that he’d been to the gym, that he’d taken care of any bumps and bruises, that he knew his upcoming schedule, that he’d been getting enough sleep…

The last one was usually said with that authoritative tone in Roman’s voice and that raised eyebrow that emphatically told Dean he’d better not lie to him.

Dean didn’t _technically_ lie.

When he told Roman every night that he was sleeping better than he usually did – an easy task for a chronic insomniac like him – Roman didn’t really need to know that it was only a couple of hours at the most, the aches and pains and demons making it nigh on impossible for him to get any decent rest.

Dean did feel guilty for bending the truth, but he didn’t want Roman to worry. Of course, if Roman knew the actual details, he’d worry more than usual, but as long as Dean didn’t do anything stupid, he was fine. Besides, when Roman eventually returned, Dean would be able to sleep considerably easier anyway; Roman just had that effect over him.

Right now though, Dean was almost beginning to wish that Roman would be back sooner rather than later.

The last ten days had been a nightmare.

First there had been the tapings, then the dark matches, then Jacksonville and Orlando in the same goddamn day, then being shepherded onto a plane bound for Hawaii, more matches, then off to Tokyo and the whirlwind of constant appearances and press conferences, with less than a day to recover before the current round of tapings…

It was intense. Dean had felt like a ping pong ball being batted back and forth, with no time to take a breath or even sit by himself and chill before the next onslaught. Dean and Roman’s nightly Skype chats had dwindled to the quickest 5 minute talks that left both of them relatively unhappy and unsettled. Dean’s bruises were developing bruises, and there was a deep throbbing that had carved its way into Dean’s very bones.

If it wasn’t for the fact that they were in Ohio, Dean’s name being screamed and cheered at him by the crowds when he entered the arena this morning as a homecoming hero (if you told him _that_ 10 years ago, he’d never have believed it), Dean wouldn’t even have been sure where the hell he was.

Simply put, Dean honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this exhausted.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was in his home state, if it wasn’t for the fact that he had his name and his position as champion to defend against people like Rollins, then Dean almost would have been tempted to go to management with his tail between his legs and ask for a day off.

But Dean was a fighting champion. He’d never admitted weakness in his life, and he wasn’t going to start now.

Slouching against the wall, Dean bent forward, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. His tank top was sticking to him uncomfortably, his wrist tape starting to itch where it had begun to unravel. The base of his back was aching like a bitch from dropping Dirty Deeds on the announce table, another irritating inconvenience to add to the myriad of bumps and bruises burning under his skin.

Normally, Dean wouldn’t mind the sting of pain; there was something about the rush of adrenaline that he got when he’d press his fingertips firmly against marks of various sizes and colours, the throbbing note of discomfort making him feel alive again in a way that wrestling couldn’t.

But now, as Dean dug the knuckles of one hand hard into the base of his spine, trying to relieve the tightness there, a thick wave of nausea rolled over him.

Dean gasped out a breath, a fresh film of sweat breaking out across his flesh as he quickly stood up.

He immediately regretted it.

The rush of blood to the head was the worst that Dean had ever experienced, even when he had been coming down from drugs, and his vision went black around the edges. His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth, his skin suddenly felt too small and tight, and Dean had to urgently swallow down the bile that burnt at his throat.

Dean went to push himself away from the wall when a sickening spike of dizziness crashed over him. He barely had time to even open his mouth and take a breath before he felt his legs give way beneath him and he slumped to the floor in a heap, his belt falling forgotten beside him as he was rushed by backstage personnel shouting for help.

Dean was out.

* * *

 

Seth had been dragging his suitcase out of his locker room, ready to go back to the hotel when he was banged into by a member of backstage crew that he didn’t recognise.

“Mr. R-R-Rollins, sir?”

Seth gave a frustrated sigh, pulling his earbuds out.

“What?”

The crew member flinched back at the tone of Seth’s voice.

“W-W-We need your help. Ambrose has passed out a-and needs to be tak-taken home.”

Seth paused, his heart briefly clenching in his chest before he pushed past the crew member.

“What do you mean he’s passed out? Where is he?”

Seth could feel a thrum of nervous energy burst through him when the member of staff pointed down the corridor, Seth flanking him every step of the way. 

He had watched rather dispassionately from a distance as Dean had flounced around, wearing _his_ title around his waist. Sure, he’d been involved in the matches, he may have been in a feud with the man, but that didn’t mean that Seth had invested much of his off screen time and energy on it.

He’d gone out of his way to avoid Dean backstage, trying to keep everything purely business. Seth knew what happened if he let it get personal. He knew all too well.

Seth couldn’t afford to let himself get tangled into the spider web that was Dean again. It had damn near crippled him the first time getting out of it as unscarred as he did. He’d had his wings torn the first time. Seth knew he’d never let himself get close enough to risk it again.

He’d promised himself.

And yet, here he was, being dragged through the bowels of the arena by some random member of staff who was telling him that Dean had passed out and Seth was ‘the only friend they could think of who’d be able to look after him’.

 _Friend_.

The term made Seth want to laugh and cry in equal measures.

Dean and him had been friends once. They’d all been friends once; him, Dean and Roman.

Before he’d torn his own heart out.

Before Dean and Roman had gotten too close.

Before he’d destroyed both of them, thinking that it would be enough to finally scupper and quench the flickering flame Dean had unknowingly lit in him.

Taking a deep breath to try and ease the vise-like grip that tightened around his chest, Seth half listened to the continued rambling and concerns of the member of staff until they rounded the corner and Seth saw _him_.

Dean was surrounded by medical personnel and a couple of the guys from the locker room – Sami, Kevin and Cesaro – who were crouched around him, trying to shift Dean’s dead weight to sit up against the wall.

Seth clenched his fist tight by his side; the urge to rush over there, push everyone else away and carry Dean off in his arms was briefly overwhelming, and Seth had to stop himself from snarling at everyone else there as he moved to squat down next to Sami.

Internally, he was screaming; he knew that Dean would be freaking out at the vast number of people in his personal space if he was conscious, knew that Dean would be trying to convince everyone that he was okay before he disappeared to lick his wounds in private. This was Dean at his most vulnerable, and Seth couldn’t stand it.

“Seth, apparently you’re gonna look after him?”

Sami’s voice and eyes were wary of Seth, a note of disbelief and uncertainty in his tone. Seth immediately bristled, his heckles raising as the attention suddenly turned to regard him.

“You got a problem with that, Zayn?”

Kevin surged forward, some kind of rebuttal on his lips before Sami wrapped one of his arms around Kevin’s chest, rubbing small circles with his fingertips into the curve of Kevin’s neck to try and calm the bigger man down.

“I guess if you know where he lives and have the time, then there’s no problem by us, is there Kev?”

Kevin didn’t look quite as certain, staring down Seth fiercely despite Sami’s best attempts to placate him. After a few moments, Kevin gave a gruff sigh, leaning back against Sami.

“Nope.”

Kevin’s response was icy, but Seth hadn’t expected any less. Kevin was surprisingly protective of those he cared about; Seth would probably get an extra hard pop in the jaw the next time they were in the ring together for daring to go after Sami like that.

After what felt like an eternity, one of the trainers turned to look at Seth.

“I don’t think there’s any foul play going on here, I think Dean’s just passed out from exhaustion, probably from a lack of substantial food and drink as well knowing what he’s like. I reckon if you get him home, try and get a decent meal in him and let him sleep it off for a couple of days, he’ll bounce right back. You’ll be surprised by the amount of first time champs who underestimate the workload.”

Seth nodded absently, remembering how it was only being surrounded by Noble and Mercury all the time that reminded him to do the basics like eat and drink.

“I’ll sign him off shows for the rest of the week, hopefully he’ll be back and raring to go by next tapings. You need any help getting him back to his place?”

“No, I got this.”

Seth had barely gotten the words out before he bent down, curling his arms under Dean’s knees and his shoulders to haul him up bridal style. Dean’s breathing was soft and silent as he instinctively curled himself into Seth’s chest before settling, his cheek laying against the hollow of Seth’s neck.

Seth resolutely ignored the lump in his throat and the agonising heaviness in his chest as he carried Dean to his rental car, depositing him as carefully as he could in the backseat.

If he apologised under his breath for the occasional jolt and scratch as he got Dean secured, then no one other than him needed to know that.

Grabbing the bags that Sami and Kevin had dragged behind them both, Seth threw it all in the boot, snubbing the other two men as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

Time to go home.

To Dean's home.

With Dean.

Seth let his eyes briefly slip shut before he pulled out of the parking lot.

Why the fuck was he doing this to himself?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second part for you all! 
> 
> This is a mammoth chapter (4,000+ words) which I had a lot of fun writing, so hopefully you all have a lot of fun reading!
> 
> As always, if you have any comments, critiques, opinions or prompts, then please don't hesitate to leave a review below!
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time that Seth knew Dean Ambrose was going to irrevocably change his life was FCW.

Ever since Dean’s debut, Seth had always felt himself drawn to the older man like a moth to a flame. There was something about that filthy mouth, spewing violent promises with that devilish grin on his lips. There was something about those stormy blue eyes that were backlit with a perverse confidence of someone with nothing left to lose. There was something about Dean’s presence that demanded attention, cockiness and pain and aggression and trouble that thrummed through Dean’s veins like blood.

It was magnetic.

The sweet burn of lust had settled deep in his gut.

And goddamn it, Seth was instantly hooked.

The first time they met in the ring was a moment of clarity for Seth.

He’d always known that Dean was a dangerous and unpredictable competitor; he’d seen the tapes of Dean in CZW. He’d seen how willingly Dean spilled his blood and put his body on the line. He’d seen just how sick and twisted Dean could be. Dean truly was a street dog, backed into a corner and fighting for his life with every match, not afraid to claw and bite and scratch and maim.

What Seth hadn’t realised though was just how deadly Dean could be.

He was technically gifted, less refined than Seth was himself but gifted nonetheless. There was a physical strength that belied his lithe, almost gangly frame; he was small, leanly muscled, but could throw Seth around the ring with ease.

But most of all, there was an intensely fierce determination in the older man’s eyes.

Eyes that blazed with frustration and anger when Seth kept kicking out of every pin.

Eyes that clouded over with pain and self-loathing when Seth managed to retain his FCW 15 championship.

Eyes that revealed the briefest flicker of emotion, of humanity.

Of weakness.

And the second that Seth saw it, he knew that he needed to see it again.

Their rivalry was the stuff of FCW legends. Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins. Destined from the start for their careers to be entwined. Seth knew that there was no competing with Dean’s viciousness and fire despite his best efforts; every time Dean went out there, Seth could feel Dean gutting himself out and leaving it all in the ring. Seth was also smart enough to realise that Dean could match him move for move if he wanted to.

It was almost like watching himself; Dean may have been rougher around the edges, all sharp points and broken glass gathered up and forced into something resembling a functioning human, but Seth couldn’t deny that there was a similarity there.

It irritated and intrigued him in equal measures.

Seth might not have been able to compete on a brute force level with Dean, but Seth was a master of the mind games. He knew that it was a risky strategy; Dean had made himself a star with his cutting words and poisonous smiles, that unhinged and manic persona that Seth instinctively knew came from a kernel of truth.

But Seth had always had a fondness of finding the cracks and prising them open, of worming his wall past someone’s defences with measured thoughts and calm words before ravaging them from the inside out.

And goddamn it, but there was something about Dean that was almost intoxicating. Something about getting under the older man’s skin that Seth almost obsessed about.

Something about tearing Dean down to his most vulnerable with each and every match, each and every touch, that Seth began to _crave_.

Once Dean had begun to realise what Seth was up to, it had all just become that much sweeter.

Their matches became just that little bit more of a game. A chance to one-up each other at each and every pass.

It was _addictive_.

And with every confrontation, that heat of _wanting_ pooled in his stomach, making his flesh itch with a need to pin Dean beneath him and _take_. To destroy the older man. To scratch and mark and bruise that pale skin, to taste the sweat at his pulse, to wring the sweetest of noises from Dean.

It was all-consuming.

And Dean knew it.

And god, did he torture Seth with this knowledge.

There were subtle gropes in the ring, Dean’s eyes blown black with that mischievous grin as he pressed himself closer to Seth than needed. There was those grinding of hips during pins, the way that Dean would suck his bottom lip between his teeth and supress a whimper. He could even smell the arousal on the older man, a heady mess of sweat and heat and something smoky that made his mouth go dry.

It wasn’t until late at night in his hotel room when Seth was alone, his fingers wrapped around his cock and his hips pumping against his fist, biting back the moans and breathy gasps as he imagined Dean’s smart mouth sinking down the length of his cock, those blue eyes hazy with lust as Dean fucked his own fist, that Seth realised he might have been in a little bit of trouble.

In fact, the moment that Seth came, Dean’s name on his lips and his eyes rolling back in his head as he milked himself through one of the most intense orgasms of his adult life, Seth realised that he was quite possibly fucked.

And the next day, when Dean had caught his gaze in the locker room and had given him a small smile, Dean’s eyes glittering with intent and secrecy…

Yeah.

Seth was _definitely_ fucked.

* * *

 

The second time Seth knew Dean Ambrose was going to irrevocably change his life was all Roman Reign’s fault.

Well, _technically_ , it wasn’t Roman’s fault, but it made Seth feel a hell of a lot better to have someone to blame.

Roman just complicated everything.

Seth and Dean had been dancing around each other for months, an illicit tango of pushing and pulling that had spun them closer and closer. Those fleeting touches. Those averted eyes when one caught the other staring. The unbearable tension that made the air heavy and thick with heat whenever they were alone together.

It had driven Seth _insane_.

It had all come to a head one night, both men drunk on lust and liquor when Seth had backed Dean against the wall of their hotel room and kissed him with every ounce of his being, his fingers coming up to grab desperately at Dean’s hair whilst his other hand sat on Dean’s waist, just above his belt.

It had been sloppy and uncoordinated, teeth clicking and both men breathing hard through their noses, and when Dean’s hands came to rest on Seth’s hips with more tentativeness than he had ever seen from the older man, his lips brushing against Seth’s, Seth’s heart skipped a beat in his chest.

It had been glorious, Seth pulling away to smile crookedly at Dean before hooking his fingers into Dean’s belt loops and pulling him towards Seth’s bed, Dean’s eyes glazed with lust and something unrecognisable as he slowly followed Seth, allowing himself to be pulled down on top of the younger man.

They’d landed in a heap, Seth completely unaware of the tension that had worked its way into Dean’s muscles as he’d rolled them both over, Seth straddling Dean as he leant down to press their lips together again. Seth swallowed down the soft whimper that left Dean, forcing entry with his tongue into the warm cavern of Dean’s smart mouth as he skated his fingers down Dean’s side firmly, intent clear in his mind as he reached for the buckle of Dean’s belt…

Only for Dean to push him away.

Dean’s hands were gripped tight onto Seth’s shoulders, the ragged breathing of both men filling the air as Seth felt the confusion colour his face.

“W-Wha…?”

Dean’s eyes were downcast as he bit down softly on his bottom lip.

“I can’t.”

Dean’s voice was wrecked; the heat and arousal tainted with a nervousness, a vulnerability that Seth had never heard from the older man, and it made Seth’s stomach clench painfully. Seth was still sitting in Dean’s lap, his lips swollen and a faint thread of saliva clinging to his chin as he regarded the older man, trying not to let his frustration get the better of him.

“Why not? We’ve been dancing around this for months, _you’ve_ been dancing around this for months, and I know you want this as much as I do.”

Dean gave a gentle sigh, one of his hands coming up to run roughly through his hair; Dean looked like a trapped animal, and Seth reluctantly swung his legs over so that he was sat on the edge of the bed, trying to will away the hardness in his jeans.

“I know, and believe me, I have been fucking fantasising about you taking me in a million ways, drilling me through the mattress, up against the wall, the whole shebang.”

“So what’s the problem then?”

Dean faced away from Seth, his eyes fixed on the wall, but Seth could see how they were beginning to glaze over with tears. One of Dean’s hands came up to rest against the juncture of his neck, tapping a quick rhythm against his collarbone.

“I’ve never let anyone else get this close to me. When I was younger, it was all ‘tough love’ if you could even call it that. The only time people would come close to me would be to beat me up, rob me, tell me I was a mistake…”

Dean’s voice cracked on the last word, and so did Seth’s heart.

“I don’t do ‘love’,” Dean spat the term out like it personally offended him. “I can’t afford to trust people in that way. Love, trust? It’s all weakness. When I’m weak, I’m a target, I’m vulnerable, and I’ve spent far too long trying to stay alive to let myself be taken down by something as pathetic as feelings. Or other people. Or anything really. I’ve spent my whole goddamn life playing the game, figuring out how people tick, what I need to do to make sure they don’t tread all over me. Only the strong survive, it’s a big bad world out there, and I’m not ready to let someone else fuck with that.”

Dean had shrugged out the last bit, almost as if he was trying to convince himself that he okay, that he was being rational. And Seth, to his credit, understood. When you’d spent your entire life bleeding and fighting to make the next day, it had to be nigh on impossible to let that guard down for anything.

But that didn’t make it any less painful to hear.

“So, this flirting, this practically begging me to fuck you in the middle of the ring, this heat, was all just a game for you to bring me down if needed?”

Dean, to be fair, at least had the audacity to look guilty.

“It started that way, alright? That what you wanna hear? I just wanted to have some fun, fuck around with you a little bit, but then I realised that you actually had goddamn feelings for me-“

“Hang on one second, what are you implying?”

“You can deny it all you want Seth, but it’s written all over your face. You have feelings for me, have done for a while. You get this flash in your eyes I don’t see for anyone else. You bite your fingernails when I’m too close, unless you’re the one doing the touching of course. As I said, I’ve spent a lifetime reading people Seth.”

Seth frowned for a moment, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he pinched the bridge of his nose hard.

“As I was saying, it started out as a bit of fun trying to rile you up, but then I realised that you have your feelings,” Dean waved his hands about theatrically, “and I can’t fuck with people like that. I like you Seth. You’re one of my only friends around here. I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to like you that way. That’s not on you, that’s all me. I’m just broken alright? I can’t love. I don’t deserve love or to get too close to people because that’s the way it’s always been. It’s just who I am.”

Seth’s heart leapt into his throat at the self-loathing and shadows etched into Dean’s expression. He wanted nothing more than to reach over and kiss the pain off Dean’s face, tell him that he wasn’t broken, he wasn’t weak, he did deserve love, but he restrained himself.

Both men had reached an understanding that night. It didn’t dampen Seth’s desire for Dean, or how that lust boiled over to become a constant aching ball of love and affection in his gut, but Seth got it. Dean got used to the fact that Seth was probably always going to carry a latent flame for him, and that it wasn’t either of theirs faults that Dean couldn’t reciprocate.

They both dealt with it, their friendship developing over time until they’d both learned that they could trust each other.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was them.

And then Roman fucking Reigns had come along and inadvertently destroyed everything.

And the worst part?

There was nothing that Seth could do about it.

When the three of them had been called up as the SHIELD, Roman had initially been the outsider, almost the third wheel of sorts. He hadn’t had the same kind of competitive rivalry that Dean and Seth had had. He hadn’t travelled the road with them, hadn’t been there night after night as the two of them had watched each other’s backs, hadn’t closed down bars with them.

It wasn’t anyone’s error; they’d all just run in different circles during their time in FCW, save for a couple of triple threat matches. Neither Seth nor Dean had been overly surprised when Roman had been drafted in as the final member of the SHIELD; he had something neither of them had. He was imposing, a beast of a man with the explosive power that both Seth and Dean lacked, a raw talent with the potential to go far.

It was also impossible to deny that Roman was disgustingly handsome. He was devastatingly masculine, hard muscle wrapped in soft caramel skin, with the steeliest grey eyes either of them had ever seen. The half sleeve of black ink, rich with a proud Samoan heritage, only complimented the long ebony hair that draped across Roman’s wide shoulders.

There was an air of classical mythology about him, a perfect modern day Greek warrior. It stood in direct counterpoint to the analytical intelligence of Seth, the manic brawling style of Dean, and Seth had known from the get-go that the three of them together were going to leave an indelible mark on the sport.

They’d all bonded relatively quickly despite their differences and their backgrounds. There were very few things each of them could truly relate to when it came to history lessons over a couple of bottles of beer, but there was a respect for each other’s past, their experiences, that formed the foundation of a strong friendship very quickly.

What Seth had noticed though, very early on, was just how much Dean seemed to gravitate towards Roman.

It hadn’t bothered Seth to begin with, because he knew that that was just what Dean was like; he had to spend a lot of alone time with someone, scope them out, find out what made them tick, before deciding whether or not to label them friend or foe.

Roman, though, seemed to get a special seal of approval.

Within a month of the SHIELD being together, it seemed like Roman knew more about Dean’s history than Seth did. It seemed like Roman knew how to calm Dean down faster than Seth could, knew how to prevent Dean from destroying half the locker room and himself when he was in a fit of anger. Dean’s smiles seemed just a little bit wider, a little bit brighter for Roman than they did for Seth; he didn’t flinch or shrug off Roman’s touches as much as he did Seth’s.

Seth felt bad about it, but goddamn, he couldn’t help the sharp sting of jealousy that gripped him.

It was pathetic; Seth should’ve felt happy that Dean had someone else he could talk to, someone else he could go to whenever he needed some help or guidance or even just to chat shit with. He should’ve felt happy that Dean apparently trusted Roman enough to let him in.

But that didn’t make it any less painful.

Now, Seth seemed to find himself on the outside, merely circling Dean and Roman as the two of them were drawn into each other’s orbit. Now, Seth felt like a third wheel, and that only put a Dean-sized dent in his pride.

Seth tried though; he knew that his fears were irrational. Dean wasn’t treating him any differently to normal; Seth was still the first one that Dean hugged after a match, he still got the first round of beers in at the bar, Dean still let him have the first shower because he knew how much Seth liked his water scalding hot.

Nothing had changed, right?

It took nearly a year for Seth to realise just how wrong he was.

He’d tried. Goddamn it, he’d tried to keep his growing jealousy under wraps, tried to stop it from seeping out like the venom it was. He’d bitten back every harsh comment or moment of frustration, stamped down on his anger until it had begun to fester in his gut.

That aching ball of love for Dean was still there. It would _always_ be there, Seth knew that that would never change, but now it was being tainted around the edges and he had no idea what he could do to stop it.

It had been after a Smackdown taping that Seth had found himself in the hotel room he shared with Dean by himself. Dean and Roman had gone down to the bar, and despite Seth’s brief want to go and join them, he couldn’t. Dean and Roman were both very affectionate drunks, and if Seth had to sit there and watch as they both stared at each other with that secretive gaze they shared just between them, or give each other those stupidly open and happy grins they thought Seth hadn’t noticed, then Seth wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold his tongue.

Instead, he’d laid on his bed, stewing. It was childish, but Seth didn’t care. He deserved to be self-indulgent for once.

Seth’s simmering had been put to a premature end when Dean had returned, surprisingly by himself, and the second that their eyes had met, Seth knew that there was something majorly wrong.

Dean’s eyes were watery, reddened around the rims, his hands trembling as he slowly made his way to sit on the edge of Seth’s bed, his back to the younger man.

“Dean, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Seth’s voice was frantic, but he didn’t dare to move any closer to Dean. Dean was making it well and truly obvious that he didn’t want any contact, his head never once turning to look at Seth.

“I-I don’t know how it happened…”

Dean’s tone was soft, confused, and it only made Seth’s gut twist into knots. Reaching forward, Seth went to rest his hand on Dean’s shoulder, his own irritation quickly being pushed to the backburner. Dean flinched under Seth’s touch, curling up on himself, and Seth couldn’t help but feel nauseous.

“Dean, what is it? Please, you’re worrying me.”

Seth’s hand fell off Dean’s shoulder as Dean bent forward, burying his face in his palms.

“You’re going to hate me.”

Seth could barely hear Dean’s words, muffled as they were, but it still didn’t stop that very real shiver of fear run down his spine. Dean never normally cared what others thought of him, especially not Seth, and to hear the pained conviction and doubt in Dean’s tone was agonising.

“I could never hate you, you know that,” Seth started firmly, resettling his hand on the back of Dean’s neck in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “I’m one of your best friends.”

The air was thick with tension, silence hanging heavy between them. Dean gave a deep, shaky sigh, and Seth tried to steel himself, straining to hear Dean’s cracked whisper.

“I think I’m in love with Roman.”

Seth’s heart broke.

“What?”

Seth spat the word out disbelievingly. There was no way…

“I think I’m in love with Roman.”

Seth was stunned into silence, barely able to realise that Dean was choking back soft sobs.

Dean was in love with Roman? Dean, the man who had emphatically told him to his face all of those years ago that he _didn’t_ love, _couldn’t_ love because love was a sign of weakness. Dean, who guarded his inner most sanctum to prevent himself from getting hurt.

Dean, who had fucking told him that night that ‘ _it was just who he was’_ , who had fucking sworn to his face that it wasn’t Seth, it was him?

In love with Roman fucking Reigns?

This was inconceivable. This was impossible. This felt like betrayal.

“Seth…”

Dean goddamn knew what Seth felt for him, and now Dean was… He was… With Roman…

“Seth, please, just say something…”

Silence.

“Get out.”

Seth’s words were dazed but deadly.

“Se-“

“I said GET OUT!”

A small part of Seth knew that he was completely overreacting, that he was being more than unreasonable to Dean, but it had been drowned under the toxic anger threatening to burn Seth alive from the inside out.

Over two years of desire, of feeling like Dean was his sun, his anchor, his everything.

Over two years of feelings he’d told himself long ago would remain unrequited because Dean himself had admitted he would never be able to love Seth the way he wanted.

Over two goddamn fucking years, and Dean just expects him to sit there and be okay with this bombshell?

Seth was livid, but he refused to keep a lid on it. Because the moment he stopped being livid, he knew that he would shatter.

He had watched dispassionately as Dean left, the older man looking more vulnerable and broken than he had ever seen him, but he just couldn’t care.

Dean was probably going to go back to _Roman’s_ room anyway.

From that moment on, Seth had known that the SHIELD would be on borrowed time.

When Triple H had approached him about two months later, Seth hadn’t needed any time to think.

* * *

 

Dean’s house wasn't any different from the last time Seth had been there.

Even Dean’s spare key was still hidden underneath his doormat where it had always been.

After he’d carefully dragged the sleeping man out of the backseat of Seth’s rental, Seth carried Dean straight through the front door, ignoring the barrage of memories that instantly assaulted him as he gingerly made his way upstairs and nudged open Dean’s bedroom door.

Dean had barely stirred from Seth’s soft movements, and Seth took the time to grab both of their bags from the car and shoot a quick message off to Sami and Kevin before making his way into the kitchen. Seth knew better than to look in the fridge, - Dean was a lazy fucker when it came to getting groceries in – taking a couple of minutes to remember which cupboard the glasses were in before grabbing two and filling them with water from the faucet.

Seth quickly drained his glass.

This all felt too domestic. Too foreign. Too much like wrongness for Seth to shake off easily.

Sure, he’d been to Dean’s apartment in Las Vegas multiple times, but the small place he kept in Cincinnati had always been off-limits; this was where Dean came to hide from the world, where he came when he needed time for himself. He wondered bitterly if Roman had ever been allowed to visit, but he swallowed back the bile burning in his throat with another gulp of water.

He’d need to let Roman know what had happened, knew that Roman would probably want to fly down from Pensacola to look after Dean himself, but that could wait.

It was selfish of him, he knew, but Seth didn’t know the next time he’d be able to be alone with Dean.

Was that bad of him? Considering how much he’d poured into trying to hate both Dean and Roman? How much he’d broken both Dean and Roman when he’d betrayed them so long ago?

Probably.

But that small ball of aching and longing was still faintly burning. It had always been burning. It would never _stop_ , regardless of what happened between the three of them.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Seth grabbed the second glass of water, gingerly toeing off his sneakers at the foot of the stairs before heading back up towards Dean’s room.

The door was very slightly ajar as Seth backed it open, turning into the room before he froze.

Blue eyes met brown.

Neither man moved a muscle.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here!
> 
> I'm really sorry about the delay in getting this written, the real world decided to get in the way. So, this is over 4,000 words of angst and angry stuff, but I absolutely loved writing it and I hope that you all like it to.
> 
> As usual, if you have any comments, reviews, critiques or ideas, then please don't hesitate to let me know below!
> 
> Also, I'm taking prompts/requests for any future Ambreigns/Ambrollins/Ambrolleigns fics, so if you have any burning ideas, hit me up!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

_Blue eyes met brown._

_Neither man moved a muscle._

_“What the_ _**fuck** _ _are you doing here?”_

xxxxx

Seth resisted the urge to turn and walk away, his heart thudding in his chest as he regarded the older man before him.

Seth was honestly expecting – _hoping_? – that Dean would be out for at least a few more hours; enough time for Seth to make sure that Dean would be okay before hightailing it out of there. Even despite the circumstances, Seth knew that he wouldn’t be welcome once Dean had actually recovered from his backstage mishap.

Okay, so it may have been Seth’s self-indulgence to have Dean depending on him, to look after the older man, to temporarily stop that ball of affection and agony aching in his gut that drove the need to even be here, but Seth couldn’t fight against himself.

Not on this.

Not when Dean had been driving himself to the brink of exhaustion, of destruction. Not when Dean’s eyes were subdued with uncertainty. Not when _Roman_ – even thinking his name made the bile burn the back of Seth’s throat- wasn’t here to care for Dean like Dean desperately wanted. Not when Dean lacked Roman’s firm and forgiving hand on the back of his neck like an anchor to guide Dean through the world.

No, Roman _wasn’t_ here, and Dean probably didn’t _want_ him here, but Seth was the only one left. Seth knew that he could support Dean for a brief while, stop him from going under.

And yes, it would hurt, it would hurt like hell. Being close to Dean this way would haunt Seth at night. It would make him flare bright with fury and longing, fury that would burn into pure despise once Dean and Seth were back in the ring together.

But Seth had always perversely enjoyed the pain that Dean inspired in him.

It was something. And if Dean couldn’t love him, then Seth would hate enough for the two of them.

Dean was uncharacteristically quiet as he waited for Seth’s answer. It was unnerving. Blue eyes were hazy and backlit with confusion, Dean’s skin a shade paler than normal. His hair was ruffled, odd curls plastered to the side of his face with sweat.

There was an air of innocence that made Seth’s stomach clench. This was a Dean with his defences down, his walls crumbled and awaiting rebuilding once he was awake enough to do it. Dean, laying in his own bed, in his own house, surrounded by very little save for the odd photograph of old wrestling buddies Seth vaguely recognised; there were occasional photos of Dean and Roman.

None with Seth though.

Seth tried to ignore the nausea roiling in his gut.

It would have been so easy for Seth to take advantage of Dean’s current vulnerability. It would have been so easy to get under his skin, to mess around with him a little bit and force him onto the back foot, but something about that thought just felt so _wrong_.

It wasn’t a feeling that Seth was used to in the slightest. Sure, he’d been wronged in the past, he’d dealt with the pain and heartbreak and acid of righting every wrong he’d been put through by the exhausted man in front of him, but he’d never truly felt the shiver up his spine of sheer wrongness that he felt now as he continued staring at Dean.

Even after all this time, Dean fucking Ambrose still found a way to touch a nerve without even doing anything. It was infuriating and painful at the same time.

Seth let his eyes slip shut for a brief moment as he took a deep breath.

He could do this. Just a few moments of civility and weakness and then Seth could go back to being Seth; maybe a little bit worse for wear, but he’d dealt with harder in the past.

Pushing himself off the doorframe, Seth took a few steps towards the bedside cabinet on the opposite side of Dean’s bed, placing down the glass of water he’d brought up with a soft clink. Dean’s eyes were fixed on Seth every second, a groan escaping his lips and a hand instantly coming up to his face when he turned a bit too quickly, his back firmly pressed against the headboard.

It was a message, even despite Seth’s attempts at playing nurse; there used to be a time when Dean never worried about showing his back to Seth, trusting him fully.

“Drink the water, Ambrose. Doc said you were dehydrated, haven’t been looking after yourself properly.”

Seth’s voice was firm but flat, his soft words lacking the conviction or encouragement that he hoped they’d have. Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“And how do I know you ain’t put some shit in it?”

Dean’s tone was rough and weary with sleep, like honeyed gravel, and god it took all of Seth’s strength not to fall to the floor at the rush of warmth that flooded him. Seth gave a crooked smile.

“Really, De… Ambrose? I wouldn’t stoop to those levels and you know it.”

Dean gave a huff, his glare fixed on the duvet as he resolutely refused to look Seth in the eye. It was probably better for both of them this way, Seth thought.

“I don’t know you, Rollins. All I know is you’re a liar, and a cheat, and and…”

Dean paused. His words had no heat or malice behind them, recited tiredly like he was reading the morning newspaper, but they still caused a flare of anger in Seth’s blood.

“What are you even doing here? Is this some shitty new Authority plan to take me out? ‘Cos if so, this is low, even for a scumbag like you.”

Seth clenched his fist sporadically by his side. Trust Dean to think that everything was a fucking plan to take him down. Trust Dean to think that every single thing in Seth’s life revolves around him. Trust Dean to think he was still worth something to Seth, even after everything they’d gone through.

Even though it was all still goddamn true.

Seth smiled viciously.

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself, _Ambrose_. I decided to help you out of the goodness of my heart, a completely selfless choice because despite what you think, I’m not the bad guy here.”

But it wasn’t selfless, and even Seth knew that Dean would see straight through him. There was always an agenda as far as Seth was concerned.

It didn’t mean that Dean had to know Seth that was only here because he was weak and needed to quench that aching ball that continued to demand attention. Dean didn’t need to know that he had tainted anything and everything about Seth’s heart that had been good once on that one fateful night.

Dean didn’t need to know shit.

Seth’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Dean’s caustic laughter; a jagged, empty sound that only riled Seth up even further.

“And there was me thinking you didn’t actually _have_ a heart.”

Dean’s words were spat out as he pulled his knees into his chest, his arms crossed lightly on top of them. It left Seth feeling disturbingly exposed in the middle of Dean’s bedroom, in Dean’s home, and even despite Seth’s best efforts to keep himself calm, he could feel his composure slipping away from him faster than Dean had all those years ago.

“Well, it’s not like your almighty saviour is here to pick your pathetic ass back up, is it?”

Dean’s eyes shot up, meeting Seth’s gaze for the first time since this entire thing had started. They were dark, cold. Not the glittery blue orbs backlit with warmth and mischief Seth saw so vividly in his dreams at night, the way they used to be in the early days before Seth permanently snuffed out that light. Hardened them. Drove him to Roman.

“Anyone would have been better than you, you lowlife scumbag.”

Seth smirked, his hands coming to rest on his hips.

“Really? Really, Dean? Unlike those so-called friends of yours, at least I was nice enough to drag your ass back home. Wouldn’t do for everyone to know how weak and overrated their world champ is.”

Seth put it down to the sheer exhaustion and lack of sleep Dean had had when Dean couldn’t hold back the slight flinch at Seth’s words. Seth tried to ignore the knot in his gut at the reaction; Dean had always been insecure when it came to other people, especially those who could be termed as ‘friends’. It had taken a long time for Seth to finally teach Dean in the early days that not everyone in this world had evil intentions.

Oh, the bittersweet irony.

“Ha, like you were until Roman picked up the scraps left after your injury and tried to make the belt mean something again?”

Seth couldn’t control the venom burning in his veins as he pointed menacingly at Dean, anger colouring his tone.

“Don’t you fucking dare say his name! I’m twice the man Roman Reigns will ever be, and don’t you ever forget it!”

A sharp, knowing smirk suddenly twisted Dean’s lips as he leaned back against the headboard, and Seth couldn’t help but berate himself for letting his emotions get the better of him. He had to be more careful around Dean at times like this; Dean was just as good as Seth, if not better, at manipulating any signs of weakness to his own advantage.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot, ‘stupid old Ambrose’, huh?”

There was a jovial, almost manic note to Dean’s voice, those dimples piercing his cheeks, and god fucking damn it but Seth felt his knees buckle just a little bit.

“That’s right! You only wish Roman was me!”

Seth knew that he was projecting. He knew that he was letting Dean get under his skin, prise open those cracks in Seth’s defences; his words were an insult and a plea, wrapped up together in a desperate attempt to stop Dean seeing just how much he still affected Seth.

Except even Seth wasn’t naïve enough to think he was succeeding.

Seth was brought out of his own thoughts by the rough bark of laughter Dean gave; it was an ugly sound, Dean’s eyes darkening as his body language suddenly turned serious.

“Now who’s the pathetic one, huh, Sethie? Who’s always had my back since day one? Who’s proved themselves each and every night, at each and every turn, regardless of how hard it has been? Who do I trust with my life? Who fucking loves and cares for me more than anyone else on this earth? ‘Cos newsflash, Rollins, it ain’t you!”

The cadence of Dean’s voice, vicious and undulating as it swung from a soft whisper to a growled and snarled shout, was enough to make the hairs on the back of Seth’s neck stand on end. The anger was like a riptide, threatening to drag them both under as Dean sat up straight, running a hand roughly through his hair.

“That’s a damn lie and you know it!”

Another harsh chuckle. This was definitely not turning out the way that Seth had expected. Although, to be fair, he should have known not to expect anything other than this when it came to Dean.

“Enlighten me then, ‘o wise and all-knowing Seth Rollins, do you really fucking care about me? Could I ever really trust you? Because all I can see is some bitch coward who couldn’t handle shit that got tough or didn’t go their way!”

That was it.

“I’ve always fucking cared about you, that’s the entire goddamn problem!”

The room fell silent apart from both men’s panted breaths.

Seth’s eyes slipped shut as his shoulders slumped, frustration and pain and hatred and exhaustion – bone deep exhaustion that had followed him around for over two long years – that had been bubbling beneath the surface finally breaking.

“I’ve always fucking cared Dean. That’s the whole point and you know it. I _loved_ you, I still goddamn _love_ you, you asshole, and what did you say? ‘Oh, I don’t do love, I’m all broken and fucked up and didn’t get enough hugs and kisses as a ki-“

Dean’s eyes turned murderous.

“Don’t even fucking go there.”

Seth wasn’t even sure he knew where _there_ was anymore, but he didn’t care. He felt almost dizzy at the lightness that lifted his heart; it was such an intense rush of release, the vitriol and bile and festering wound in his chest finally starting to feel like it was healing.

“And then what did you do? You came crying to me like a fucking pussy, declaring your undying love for Roman Reigns of all people, that stupid bastard!”

Dean was seething.

“You stop right now or I will break your face!”

There was a thread of panic tainting Dean’s words; Dean had never been good with confrontations like this, preferring fists and blood over truths and feelings, but Seth couldn’t stop.

“You broke my heart, you selfish prick! You destroyed me!”

“WELL IT’S NOT LIKE YOU WERE ANY FUCKING BETTER, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

Silence.

Such heavy and oppressive silence suffocating them both.

Seth was stunned, his heart thudding in his ears as he was brought back down to earth with an almighty crash.

He stood wide-eyed as he regarded the older man before him. Dean’s face was flushed red with fury, his lips shiny with saliva and his hair sticking up all over the place as he panted shallowly.

But Dean’s eyes, oh Dean’s eyes, Seth thought sadly as he swallowed against the thick lump that had appeared in his throat, they were hazy with a film of tears that Seth knew Dean would never let him see.

Hazy with tears, but empty.

So empty.

The last time Seth had seen this much emotion clouding Dean’s eyes was when Dean was pleading with Seth that fateful night, when Dean watched his closest friendship slipping through his fingers because Seth couldn’t control his own jealousy…

And all of a sudden, Seth actually felt sick.

“You ripped the SHIELD apart piece by motherfucking piece, you fucking ruined my life, and all because I hurt your precious feelings? And you call _me_ selfish? What, I wouldn’t fall into bed with you so you went and ran to Triple H like a child? Complain like a bitch to anyone who would listen all about that ‘big bad crazy Ambrose’? You have a fucking nerve. You fucking sicken me, and yet you still fucking throw a hissy fit because Roman understood me? Because he pulled me the rubble you fucking abandoned me in and made me human again?”

Dean’s tone was flat, almost bored, but Seth could hear the faint tremor wavering his voice, the weight of all the agony and confusion and loss that Dean had been carrying for over two years completely unmistakeable as Dean fixed his gaze on a spot behind Seth’s shoulder. Dean’s fingers were tapping a slow, precise rhythm against his inner thigh, and Seth was struck by the distressing urge to move closer and lace his own fingers over Dean’s.

Seth clenched his fists tight, his nails digging into his palm.

“Stop talking about him, this is about us, about you and me.”

“Roman _is_ a part of me, you jackass! He is the most important thing in my life! You gave up that claim when _you **broke** us_!”

Seth stood in open-mouthed silence, too stunned to even muster together some kind of response. Seth’s skin was crawling, like pins and needles, as the severity of Dean’s words began to fully sink in.

Seth honestly hadn’t meant to break them.

There was no intention to tear them apart and leave them both virtually crippled from the impact. Seth had just needed the distance, the breathing space and the clarity that came with it. He needed to be able to live his life without the constant thrum and pull of Dean clawing away at him, dragging him further and further into that miserable pit of unrequited love that Dean just couldn’t return.

It had just gotten out of hand, his jealousy and anger and resentment and betrayal spiralling until Seth couldn’t find his own way out of the spiders web Dean had inadvertently lured him into.

Was that Dean’s fault? Maybe.

But he should’ve known better than to get involved with someone like Ambrose and not expect to get burned, and by running away and burying himself in his career at the expense of everyone else around him, he’d only made things worse.

Dean was staring at him, his eyes wide and bright with a vulnerability and pain that made Seth feel physically ill.

“You broke _me_ , and I _hated_ myself for it. Still do some days, y’know?”

Dean gave a ghost of a bitter smile, his voice barely above a whisper as he swallowed thickly, scratching the inside of his elbow.

“Roman calls it self-sabotage, getting into fights and arguments and fucking up the one good thing in my life with him, push him away before he can throw me out into the gutter like the scum I am. He tells me he loves me, every single day, and yet I’ve never been able to say it back. Because the last time I said I loved him? My best friend kicked me to the curb, destroyed any trust I had for people in this world.”

Seth could feel the tears budding in his own eyes as he softly bit down on his bottom lip. He could feel his stomach churning, the bile burning his throat with the weight of every hushed and cracked admission tumbling out of Dean’s mouth.

“I mean, I survived some shit when I was a kid, buried every horrible memory and feeling deep in my gut just so that I could sleep at night, but you…”

Seth felt like he couldn’t breathe when a single tear trickled slowly down Dean’s pale cheek.

“But you, Seth Rollins, you very nearly shoved me over the edge. For the longest time, I couldn’t look in a mirror without seeing your face that night reflected back at me. It haunted me. It still fucking haunts me, _you_ still fucking haunt me, and not even beating your face in every single night can fully erase that. Not even Roman can fully erase that, and Roman has to deal with the consequences. You got away scot-free. You didn’t nearly drive everyone away because you lashed out whenever anyone got too close. You didn’t get into bar fights night after night just to feel _something_ , terrified that you’d go back to your hotel room and the one person you cared for most in the world would realise just how fucked up you were. You don’t fucking _flinch_ like a scalded _dog_ every night when you’re laying in bed, wrapped up in the arms of someone who spends their every moment trying to convince you that you’re fucking worth somethi-”

Dean choked on a sob, his fist briefly resting against his lips before slamming down on the bed beside him. The thud was sudden enough to make Seth jump, the room suddenly feeling much smaller than it did before.

“You don’t deal with any of that. You don’t give a shit. You never did, otherwise you wouldn’t have destroyed us. I will probably never be able to tell Roman that I actually love him. I will probably end up wrecking his life the same way you did mine, which he will never deserve.”

Dean lifted his head, his eyes meeting Seth’s once more.

“And I will _never_ forgive you for that.”

And in that moment, Seth felt his heart break all over again.

Dean rubbed a hand roughly down his face, scrubbing furiously at the tears now running insistently down his cheeks, before moving to lay back down on top of the bedcovers. He curled himself up into a tight ball, not unlike a child would, his face partially obscured by the pillows.

His gaze never once left Seth’s though, the younger man standing there trying desperately to find something to say as he watched the shutters come down across Dean’s face, a hint of self-loathing and despair flashing across Dean’s expression before he hid himself away behind the cracked walls and foundations he very rarely dropped.

Seth could tell instantly that Dean had said too much. He’d revealed too much. He’d shown too much weakness.

Dean’s body language was defensive, as if daring Seth to say or do something.

But Seth couldn’t.

He didn’t know what he _could_ do.

Seth should’ve known better than to agree to helping Dean get home, should’ve known better than to be self-indulgent and try to placate that aching ball of longing that had sat heavy in his stomach for over two years. He should’ve realised that he was taking a risk, but he had been too blinded by the opportunity for Dean to finally be dependent on him again.

For Dean to care about him again.

Seth should’ve known that the true damage had been done that one fateful night in a shared motel room, with those two words he wished he’d never said. Two words that had sent Dean into freefall, only to be caught by the one person Seth wanted to be more than anyone else.

Seth gave a ragged sigh, blinking back the tears as he realised that Dean’s eyes had fallen shut, soft whines and whimpers coming from the older man even as the tension failed to dissipate.

That helplessness was there again, and Seth’s heart lurched in his chest. Dean looked so young, so precious, and the urge to wrap him up in his arms and protect him from the horrors of the world was almost overpowering.

And pointless.

Seth was the biggest horror in Dean’s world.

And Seth realised that he would probably never be able to change that, no matter what he did.

Taking a few cautious steps forward, Seth leaned over Dean’s upper body, his fingers twitching with a desire to smooth away all of the tension in Dean’s limbs. His hand was trembling as he reached out, his fingertips barely caressing Dean’s face as he brushed his sweaty hair away from his flushed skin.

Dean didn’t even flinch; he must be exhausted, Seth thought sadly.

Leaning forward, Seth’s mouth hovered just above Dean’s ear, his breath bathing Dean’s damp skin in warmth.

“I’m sorry Dean. I really am.”

Seth’s apology was heavy with genuine remorse, and Seth waited for a split moment before remembering that he wouldn’t get any kind of response.

It was fine. He didn’t deserve one. He didn’t deserve anything from Dean.

A beat passed, and Seth pressed his lips gently to Dean’s temple, his eyes slipping shut when he realised that this was probably the last time that he’d ever get this close to the older man.

It was bittersweet really, to think that the next time they saw each other, the status quo would be balanced once more; they’d fight tooth and nail, they’d spew words full of acid and hate, they’d go back to trying to destroy each other on a nightly basis.

The ball of longing didn’t recede though.

Seth knew that it wouldn’t. His affection and need for Dean was just as strong as it would ever be.

 _This_ , though, he deserved. This pain of what could have been, this lovesick misery that would dog Seth until the end of his days. This knowledge that Dean was with Roman, and that he was loved.

The agony that Seth had let Dean slip through his fingers, and that it was no-one’s fault but his.

Reluctantly, Seth pulled away, his chest going tight at the faintest curl of Dean’s lips; for a brief second, Seth imagined that Dean was smiling because of him, and it was enough to ease the aching in his gut for a flicker of time.

It took everything Seth had in him to walk away, his protective instincts still screaming and shouting that Dean was unwell and needing looking after, but Seth knew that he wasn’t the one who could do it.

Pulling his phone from his back pocket, Seth quickly typed in a number that he had never forgotten.

**_Message sent 19:43_ **

_He really loves you, even if he can’t say it. He needs you right now._

**_Message received 19:45_ **

_who is this?_

**_Message started 19:46_ **

_I’m sorry, to both of you. I really am._

Seth paused for a second. Backspaced.

**_Message sent 19:47_ **

_Look after him._

Seth hadn’t even reached the bottom of the stairs when he heard Dean’s mobile phone loudly ringing, Dean’s grumbling as he came round from his dozing.

Seth bit down hard on his bottom lip, his eyes tearing up once more as he opened the main door, hearing Dean’s gruff voice echoing from upstairs, the relief clear in the breathed sigh that cut through Seth like a knife.

_“Hey, Ro, baby, don’t panic, I’m okay…”_

Pulling himself up to his full height, Seth took a deep breath as he let the front door click closed behind him.


End file.
